


Once Every Thousand Years

by Ralith



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Teasing, valveplug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:15:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24084193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralith/pseuds/Ralith
Summary: Ironhide is desperate for relief, but Ratchet is going to make him wait for it.
Relationships: Ironhide/Ratchet (Transformers)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 82





	Once Every Thousand Years

“How far along are you?”

“Day one.”

“Only the first day?” Ratchet gave another quick pump and a twist, his deft digits swallowed up to the knuckle in wet heat. Ironhide squirmed in the medic’s lap again, heels digging into neon dorsal plating, peeling paint and leaving his own mark. He tried to buck up, grind his neglected spike against the other’s abdominal plating, but Ratchet’s other hand only clamped harder on his thigh, holding him down. “Day one and you’re already a dripping, mewling mess? Our finest warrior fallen so far because he craves my cock.”

Ironhide didn’t think his system could run any hotter, but hearing Ratchet use language he picked up from those human smut films he watched, for research, of course, was making his fans whine and rattle. He was fairly sure his components would start melting soon.

The medic gave a few final shallow thrusts and withdrew. He rubbed the soaked digits together almost pensively. Ironhide growled deep in his chest and it brought a smile to his mate’s lips.

“But you know what I think?” Ratchet bared teeth against Ironhide’s throat guard and bit down. Hard. He growled low and possessively; pressed so close, Ironhide could feel it rumble in his own chest. Those three fingers clamped down around the head of his spike, but made no effort to jerk him off. The soldier tried with renewed fervor to buck into Ratchet’s grasp. “I don’t think you’re ready yet. You don’t want this bad enough.”

Suddenly, Ratchet released him and rolled the old frontliner rather unceremoniously onto his back. He had to forcibly remove those thick legs clenched around his waist, before slipping from the bed.

Stunned, Ironhide tried to grasp for words. Did he want to beg Ratchet to come back? Or cuss him out? The speech centers of his processor were no help, but his body knew what it wanted. To be fucked. Absolutely railed. Screwed so hard he forgot the last four million years.

But all Ratchet did was reach into the bedside drawer and toss a vibrating dildo back at him.

“I’ll leave you to finish. I have work to be done in the medbay.”

Before his vocal processor decided cursing Ratchet out was the appropriate response, the medic had shut the door behind him.

“Frag.” Reluctantly, Ironhide rolled over and reached into the same drawer. “Not even the one I like,” he huffed and withdrew a larger variant.

On the second day, the ache in his valve was a constant. Seeking out his elusive mate, he eventually found the mech reclining in the rec room, flipping through TV channels. It was past midnight, and apart from a few night owls amongst the NEST troops, the halls were empty.

It also meant there wasn’t much on. He could be Ratchet’s entertainment.

By way of a greeting, Ironhide crawled onto the couch and grabbed the medic by his bull bars. He rolled, pulling Ratchet to hover over him. He hoped Ratchet could see the hunger in his optics, feel the tension and need roiling in his field.

Ratchet only managed to look mildly annoyed, but he had gone over easily enough and allowed rough, battle-hardened hands to slip to his aft and tug him close enough to roll black thighs against chartreuse.

“So needy,” Ratchet sighed. He closed his eyes for a few short moments as Ironhide rut shamelessly against him. He couldn’t deny how delicious the friction was, content to bathe in the searing heat radiating from overworked vents. Pressure was growing behind his panel, but he resisted the urge to open for his mate. Instead, he rose to a sitting position and settled his weight on Ironhide’s waist.

One hand traced along the transformation seams of old, scarred armor. He’d memorized the other’s body like his favorite book, knowing where to dip and how hard to press to elicit a moan and arch of a spinal strut. His other hand worked on his own frame, rubbing little circles around his headlights.

“You’re so desperate you’d do this in public?” Ironhide nodded and snapped his valve cover back. He was already so wet. “You’d allow a passing human to see you spread open for me, my fingers deep in your core?”

Ratchet scraped along a bundle of cabling that had Ironhide choking out his name.

“You would let Lennox see you begging so wantonly for my cock?”

“Please!” Ironhide almost screamed when that same bundle was tugged.

“What about Optimus? Would you let him watch me break you while he touched himself? What if he wanted a turn?”

Ironhide could feel his valve clench at Ratchet’s words. The thought of being taken by them both, riding them in tandem, spread impossibly wide. Ratchet venting hot and heavy against an audial, praise dripping from his lips and the Prime’s experienced hands under his armor, on his spike…

He was on the edge, feeling the tension about to snap, that scratch in his core about to be itched, but he was cruelly ripped from the fantasy by Ratchet again when the medic pulled away and redirected his attention to the TV.

“Ratch, wha-,” Ironhide panted heavily, his frame shaking.

“I will not have you ruin this couch. Not the place, not the time.”

Growling words that vaguely sounded like “Fuck you”, Ironhide rose with difficulty from the couch and returned to their quarters. He did come back to the rec room fifteen minutes later, considerably less frustrated physically. He was still pissed, but he curled up next to Ratchet nonetheless, craving the medic’s touch.

Days three, four, and five ended no better for the long-suffering mech.

The third day saw Ironhide bent over a table by the refueling station for Ratchet’s eyes to feast. Most of their teammates were out on training exercises, but there was still the chance they’d return to see him teasing his own valve, fingers busy working apart puffy, wet folds. The thought caused another trickle of lubricant to stain his thighs.

Ratchet had watched for a good few minutes, slowly sipping his own drink, before setting it down and bending over top his mate, pressing him almost painfully into the edge. Ratchet’s hand slipped between obscenely spread legs and he set to work rubbing furiously at the little exterior node until it was good and swollen and oh so sensitive that Ironhide’s legs quaked under the assault.

“Primus! Just put it in already!”

“Ironhide,” Ratchet spoke low, his voice warning. He delivered a hard spank to the other’s aft and stepped back.

“You don’t fuck where you eat.”

He left Ironhide clinging to the table for dear life, fluid-smeared thighs twitching and legs spread for the world to see. Ratchet ducked behind the counter and rummaged for a rag to wipe his fingers clean before tossing it to the soldier. He exited the room, mumbling something about not fucking on counter tops and tables. Oh, you’re just going to finish each other off and not disinfect that surface?!

On the fourth afternoon, Ratchet had sucked his spike while Ironhide’s vents sucked sand. But it all ended the same. No relief for the weary. Waves in the lagoon lapped his feet, but rust be damned he didn’t have the strength to get up!

Ratchet wanted it almost as badly as himself. He could see the fire burning in those blue optics, feel Ratchet’s frame burn hotter when they touched. But why was he holding back?

Ratchet had to break soon too, right?

Wrong. The events of day five had left Ironhide locked out of their quarters.

On the sixth day, Lennox joined Ratchet in watching Ironhide perform miserably on the firing range. He’d never seen even a rookie miss that many targets.

“What did you do to him?” Will half-joked. Usually when Ironhide got like this, it was in response to another of their little tiffs. He didn’t expect Ratchet to outright admit guilt.

“The fool is in heat.” Ratchet said matter-of-factly. Will didn’t question it. The human had been given a front row viewing to “Cybertronian Biology and Reproduction 101” numerous times on the job, and that one time in his barn. They’d agreed to repair everything they broke, which was a lot. “And I won’t frag him.”

“Why not? Nothing has stopped you two in the past. Not rain, nor shine, nor our rookies needing the fitness grounds. Which, by the way, you still haven’t repaired the chin-up bars. They were supporting _your_ legs.”

Ratchet smiled at the memory. He’d bruised his back strut.

“I don’t think he’s earned it yet.”

Their attention was drawn by the sound of a violent clattering. Ironhide had thrown his Heavy Iron to the ground in frustration and was now trudging his way towards them. He met Ratchet’s optics briefly as he continued past.

“He’s going back to our room to look for his toys, but he’s not going to find them.”

Will gave him a questioning look.

“He woke me from a sound sleep last night. I hid them as punishment.”

When Ratchet returned to their quarters, Ironhide was in the shower. It was small, barely big enough for the two of them at once, but it provided privacy the public wash couldn’t. The door was propped open and Ratchet could see Ironhide standing beneath the spray. His head was tilted far back as he worked his erection in quick, rough movements. He muttered Ratchet’s name amongst a stream of groans.

Ratchet drew a sudden, sharp gasp from him when he pressed the mech bodily into the wall.

“My name sounds beautiful on your lips.”

Ironhide growled and turned his head to glare at his mate. “I’m sick of your teasing, medic!”

“I’m the tease?” Ratchet reached for the shower head as he nudged Ironhide’s legs apart. Adjusting the water to a single, concentrated stream, he then brought it to pound relentlessly against that sensitive little bundle of nerves just above his mate’s valve.

Ironhide spit static and his entire frame stiffened.

“All week you’ve begged for one thing.” It was almost too much, at once slightly painful, but oh Primus! Ironhide wanted to simultaneously pull away and grind down harder into the pulsing stream.

“I can fuck you real good, Ironhide. I can fuck you until you can’t stand anymore. I can fuck you until you blow a vocal capacitor. I could fuck you in the middle of a four-way intersection and you’d thank me.”

Ironhide could feel the walls of his valve clamp down, his legs shudder. His fingers carved dents into the wall and he came hard, rocking through his overload, grinding his spike into the wall until the sweet bliss faded and he slumped into Ratchet’s arms.

“You’ve been begging me for a good fuck. But is that all I am to you when you get like this? You have to ask yourself, Hide,” Ratchet shifted the warrior in his arms so that the wall was his main support and gently gripped his chin, pressing a ghost of a kiss to parted lips. “Do you want my spike? Or do you want me?”

He left Ironhide to reflect like that for a while, his legs like putty and his fans whining pathetically.

By the time the old warrior emerged, Ratchet was in bed with a datapad.

“Took you long enough,” Ratchet spoke without looking up. Ironhide forced the medic to look at him when he ripped the distraction away and set it on the bedside table. Ratchet exhaled a soft grunt as Ironhide settled on his thighs.

“You’re right. All this week, I’ve treated you like nothing more than a frag toy.” Ratchet tipped his head to the side, welcoming the plethora of kisses that tickled up and down unshielded neck cables. “A very pretty frag toy. But I haven’t given you anything.”

“Mmm, not true. You gave me several nights of lost sleep.” Ironhide nipped at the medic’s jaw and his fingers began to play over brightly colored armor. “I’d forgotten how insatiable you get during your cycle. It’s been what? One thousand-ah! years since your last heat cycle?”

“Though it was a bit harder for you to ignore me then.”

Ironhide’s thick digits trailed charge up and down the delicate seam just above Ratchet’s spark. He kissed Ratchet’s lips before placing more love bites along his throat.

“We were stuck on a ship in the galactic equivalent of…what is Epps favorite colloquialism? Ah, butt-fuck-no-where. What with your constant complaining and mewling, Jazz was on the verge of tossing you from the airlock if I didn’t satisfy you.”

“Then will you sate my hunger again? Frag me so good I won’t have another cycle for two thousand years? Maybe more?” Ironhide caught the medic’s hand in his and guided it to his panel which opened at first touch.

“I want you, Ratchet. All of you.”

Ratchet grinned. He popped his own panel and Ironhide hurriedly began to work him to fully erect. Blunt fingertips edged the faint stripe of bioluminescence as it curved towards the bulbous head, teasing up and down, up and down, then pumping him fast until Ratchet was painfully hard.

Ironhide was swiftly dumped on his back and he hooked his legs over the wheel guards at Ratchet’s waist. But Ratchet instead maneuvered those thick legs over his shoulders and bent Ironhide at the waist.

“Two thousand years?” Ratchet hummed, easing into Ironhide until he was fully engulfed in that tightness. “Let’s try for ten thousand.”

Ratchet began with slow, but deep thrusts, sometimes pausing to sit still while they were flush together and gaze into his mate’s optics. Any other time, Ironhide would have called it romantic, but right now, it was torture.

It’d really been too long since he had Ironhide like this. Usually he was sobbing out Ironhide’s name like it was the only word in his vocabulary, clinging so hard to the old frontliner’s back the plating crumpled. But here, Ironhide looked so damn pretty in his shadow, unravelling beneath him, moaning and pawing at him.

“Is this what you wanted, Ironhide?” Ratchet marked his question with a sharp snap of hips. Ironhide’s shout and clenching fists told him he’d hit that spot. “Is this what you’ve been begging for?”

A few more brutal thrusts and Ratchet slowed again. He thoroughly enjoyed the warrior’s frustrated groan.

Ratchet dipped his fingers into the gaps in Ironhide’s thigh, plucking cords like a harpist. His other hand fell to tease the base of the other’s impressive spike; he traced little glyphs on the metal around it. Ironhide bucked up, hoping to brush his neglected length against a wrist guard, something.

“You want that too? Am I not giving you enough? How about this?” Ratchet drove in hard and fast now. His name died on Ironhide’s lips, a long moan dragged from the soldier.

“Fuck, Ironhide! You’re tight. What if…what if we did it like this forever, hmm? You riding my spike like it’s the only thing keeping you alive. Doctor’s orders.”

Ratchet overlaid Ironhide’s hand with his and wrapped their fingers around his spike, working together to pump it at Ratchet’s speed.

“Make your valve mine. Hah! Every night!”

“Ratch! Make-gah! Make me yours. Ratchet!”

Ironhide was the first to reach that blissful point and tip over, his valve walls rippling, clenching down on Ratchet who continued to pound him with bruising strength. Their hands kept moving, milking the warrior for everything he had, decorating himself and Ratchet with trans-fluid. Following Ironhide over the edge, Ratchet slipped back into their native language for a brief moment, growling Ironhide’s name.

He was slow to still, comfortable to keep pumping into his mate as they came down from their high. Before they parted, Ironhide took the medic’s face in his hands, kissing Ratchet with the passion of a week’s worth of missed opportunities.

Ironhide was exhausted, relieved, but utterly strutless. Ratchet gathered him in an embrace, yellow digits stroking down his neck and arms soothingly.

“Ratchet,” Ironhide murmured. Ratchet answered by way of a questioning hum, kissing the top of his head. “You know my heat cycle can last up to three weeks.

“And you did mention doing this every night…”


End file.
